Dusts of a Strange Time
by xkidiot
Summary: "You're not a very well mannered lass, are you? What ever happened to propriety?" Emma swallowed hard and lowered her knife a little more, but refused to break eye contact. "Propriety be damned, Jones, we're all gonna die." He chuckled, Stepping down from the porch, the breeze ruffling his hair. "With that attitude, surely." (CS Post-apocalypse 3 shot)
1. Chapter 1

On the first day of spring after the end of the world, Emma Swan made herself coffee. It was the old-fashioned way, really- roasting the beans with water heated from a crackling fire.

Electricity wasn't really common on her end of the woods, and Emma didn't really know the cabin as well as was necessary to generate electric heat. It tasted entirely acrid and was too hot, but Emma found a little comfort in the fact that no one else was there to try the bitter drink.

That comfort turned into a frown on her pale face, thinned from harsh nights and brutal days, as she heard the growl of another biter outside the cabin. No one but the dead, apparently.

It had been Summer when Emma first got visitors. She had heard the screeches of the metal fence she had set around the perimeter, and tipped back the last of her whiskey without hesitation. The intruders were a couple of teenage girls, insisting they were much tougher than they looked. They had just needed a shelter for the night, while they coordinated their supplies and prepared to go back into the heat of Maine's expansive forest, but Emma was reluctant to oblige.

After all, she'd been on her own for _god knows_ how long- since this whole mess started. It wasn't until she caught a glimpse of the trembling in the taller girl's hands that Emma lowered her weapon and let them in. She knew their type: resilient sisters who'd take on the world for each other. At the time, Emma's mouth had dried up as she shook her head, telling them, " _there's no world left to be against you."_

The older one was blonde and icy, protective of the younger redhead, and sure to keep a hunting knife on her at all times. It made Emma ache a little, because she used to _be_ that blonde, but she'd never had a sister to protect.

Though, Emma supposed, her crappy childhood didn't really matter in the face of a hoard of zombies. She told them they could stay for a night.

They stayed for a week.

At some point, Emma woke to a thank-you breakfast of old rations, and the girls were nowhere to be found.

When Autumn rolled around, Emma began to think about her friends back home. There weren't many, sure, but by the end of the world, she didn't have as many reservations about using the term loosely. There was always her bail-bondsman partner, Graham, a tall irishman with curls of red hair and looks that brought their female bail-jumpers to their knees. Emma, though she hated to admit it, had been bait for the slimier bastards who'd skipped town but had just enough time for dinner with a hot blonde.

The two had eaten one too many containers of chinese food on stakeouts than was strictly necessary between coworkers, but Emma had never let her walls fall down enough to let him in.

Now, though, Emma wondered how different things might have been if she had. Maybe she wouldn't have gone on that damn camping trip with Ruby right when the end hit- she might have heeded his warnings about the disease being rumored to spread quicker in the more rural areas. Maybe she'd have taken him up on his offer to help her pack.

Each time a biter got too close to the fence and Emma had to take it down with the old bowie knife he had given her, she wondered if Graham would have plastered that lopsided smile of his on his face, or maybe pat her on the back for a solid slash. His was the only touch she hadn't flinched at.

But Graham was gone now, likely crawling around the streets of Boston as a walking corpse. Ruby hadn't lasted much longer than a few days, falling victim to a nasty bite on the shoulder, before Emma put her out of her misery. Now she had nothing but her friend's cabin and a lifetime supply of whiskey. _Not a bad way to go_ , she thought.

That was, until Killian Jones showed up at her gate. He was of average height and build, with dark hair falling around his face and blue eyes staring at Emma and her raised gun. His hands were in the air, gloved and scratched from prying at the fence.

Emma raised an eyebrow, her fingers on the trigger not wavering for a minute.

"Give me a reason not to kill you right here." She commanded, and he barked out a strangled laugh. If she thought about it for too long, Emma thought she might learn to like the sound. He spoke, then, in a hearty British-Irish accent that sent a bit of rumbling to the pit of her stomach in a way that scared her more than the dead ever could.

"I'd think that you already have one, considering I'm not sitting here with a hole in my chest." He leaned forward, as if bowing, "The name's Killian, Killian Jones."

Emma almost felt the trace of a smile, before she squashed it with a shrug of indifference. After all, his ridiculous bow had given her a glimpse of the heavy rifle that lay on his shoulder.

"Drop it." She motioned to his weapon, but he winked and gave a tug to his belt. Emma cocked her gun in response. "The rifle, jackass."

He huffed and, despite heavy reluctance, pulled the strap from his shoulder and tossed it over the fence, letting it hit the ground with a thud.

"And here I thought you'd have an appetite for robbing me of _other_ protections." Emma ignored his compulsive flirtations and kept her gun trained on him the whole time, picking up the rifle he had dropped.  
"You got a knife in there?" She asked him, pointing to his faded and dusty jeans.

"Anxious to get into my trousers, are you?" His lilted the words reached her just as he leaned forward, tracing his bottom lip with his tongue.

"There's no room for jokesters in this world, Jones. Just the dead and the soon-to-be." He tilted his chin up at her, lowering his hands to the lock of the fence.  
"If I open this, will you end my plight where I stand?"

"Give it a try and find out for yourself."

He did just that.

As it turns out, Emma hadn't felt like drawing biters to her shelter with the sound of gunfire (at least that was the reasoning she gave him when he sat down across from her on the porch). He had just raised an eyebrow, his jaw clenching ever so slightly. The stubble on his chin and cheeks was decorated with flecks of ginger, scratchy to the touch. Not that Emma did- or wanted to, for that matter.

"What do you want?" She asked him directly, anxiously dragging her nails against her palm, eyes darting to the knife that lay by her thigh. He scratched behind his ear, clearing his throat.

"I'm just scouting. I'm part of a group- community, rather- and my boss sent me in search of abandoned cabins. She says that it could help our resources a great deal to raid a few empty ones." Emma's gaze flickered to his canvas pack, which was bulging at the seams. He warily nodded at her silent question, continuing, "That would be the haul from last night's venture."

She couldn't tell if there was a real danger of him returning to kill her and steal her rations- or if the danger was in her ( _surely_ irrational) instinct to trust him.

Either way, Emma sat up a little stiffer.

"Well, obviously this cabin isn't abandoned. Actually, it's pretty inhabited. My husband will be back soon, too, so you should be on your way now." _There's strength in numbers_ , she thought, even if they were lies.

Killian didn't seem to buy it. His eyebrows twitched as pointed a scarred and dirty finger at her own pale hand.

"Where's your ring?"

Her hands felt clammy all of a sudden, and the air might have gotten 10 degrees warmer.

"What?" She managed, her throat drying up.

"If you're married, then why aren't you wearing a wedding ring?"

She was about to say she had pawned it, or she had lost it, or maybe it had been stolen- but he interrupted her chances of answering.

"You don't have to lie to me, love. I'm not going to hurt you."

He seemed honest, but Emma's barriers flew up. She stood from the porch, gripping her knife tightly.

"I know you aren't, because I could kill you with ease." She narrowed her eyes, raising the weapon slightly, "So I'll repeat myself: you should be on your way now."

He didn't look the least bit intimidated. Instead, he grinned.

"Before I've gotten your name?"

She huffed.

"You're not getting my damn name, asshole. Get out of here." He stood, but made no move to leave.

He was taller than her by a few inches, maybe 6 feet, and he smelled of pine needles and smoked maple. Emma hadn't realized just how _blue_ his eyes really were, until he was close enough that she could feel his breath on her face. He tilted his head, studying her for a minute, before letting out a low hum. He licked his lips, eyes steady on hers.

"You're not a very well mannered lass, are you? What ever happened to propriety?"

Emma swallowed hard and lowered her knife a little more, but refused to break eye contact.

"Propriety be damned, Jones, we're all gonna die."

He chuckled, Stepping down from the porch, the breeze ruffling his hair.

"With that attitude, surely."

She couldn't help but let out a small breath.

"It's Emma." She called as he took another step. He paused, turning back to her. "Emma Swan."

He offered his hand, looking up with sincerity.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Emma Swan." Their hands met briefly, and Emma was sure to pull hers away after the second had passed. "I don't suppose I might get my gun back?"

She surveyed him once more: well muscled arms, the traces of black hair showing through his low cut cotton shirt, dirtied with stains of blood, mud, and grass. He had a small scar on his cheek, and the faintest suggestion of freckles across his nose.

"Depends. Can I count on you never showing your face around my cabin again?" He just looked at her hard, as if daring her to continue. When she didn't, he did.

"Is that really what you want, Swan?"

She knew loneliness had always been in the cards for her, in this world or any other- but the thought of having someone else _there_ , with her, made her knees weak and her heart heavy. Maybe the fact that Killian was so… _something_ to her, made it easier to nod her head.

"I'm sure," She lied through her teeth, extending his rifle to him. "Go, Killian." He eyed it, but retracted his hand instead of grabbing it.

"I'll come around for it tomorrow. I'll expect you to be packed by then, as well." She furrowed her brows.

"What the hell are you talking about?"

He sent her a strange look that she couldn't quite put her finger on, and curled his fingers around the material of his fleece jacket, dust rising around his boots as he half-turned to go.

"Well, you're coming with me, obviously."

Emma blanched.

"No, I'm not." When he tilted his head at her with that infuriatingly consistent grin, she got angrier. "I'm staying and I'll put a bullet in the skull of anyone who tries to tell me otherwise! You don't get to make my decisions for me."

He shook his head.

"I didn't make the decision. You did."

She scoffed.

"How did you get the idea that I wanted to go with you? Was it by telling you to piss off? Or by saying that I never want to see your damn face again?"

He corrected her,

"By lying through your teeth, love. See you tomorrow, we'll leave around midday."

She stuttered, face contorted in confusion, anger, and surprise, as he walked through the dirt to the gate, sending her one last wave before throwing his bag over his shoulder and disappearing into the trees.

Emma's fingers twitched around her knife, and she eventually sighed and sheathed it. Apparently, she had packing to do.


	2. Chapter 2

"How much farther?" She whined again, for the third time in an hour. Her black boots crunched the leaves on the forest floor, accenting each step she took.

"You complain more than my brother, Swan, and he's a proper man-child." Killian answered from a few feet in front of her. His hair was sticking up in all directions, the wind flying between the trees having its proper effect. The journey that they had spent the last day embarking upon had turned out to be slow and tumultuous, with the constant fear of biters and scavengers plaguing their minds.

Killian was more gentle than his first gruff impression had implied. He despised killing (even the undead), but wouldn't hesitate if it was called for. He was, however, exactly as smug and flirtatious as Emma had expected. At one point, she had pushed him against a tree to keep him out of the sight of a wandering biter, and he had let his hands explore her hips and waist, wiggling his eyebrows and letting out an, "It's about bloody time."

She had nearly choked, elbowing him in the ribcage and pointing out the corpse 20 meters away. He frowned in disappointment, but didn't release his hold on her until the biter had travelled a safe distance.

Still, it was hard for Emma to manage the long trek with all of her belongings on her back. Graham's bowie knife was strapped to one side of her hips, and her gun was snug in its holster on the other. Her dark jeans were splattered in mud and dust, and Emma wondered what it might be like to take a hot shower, after spending so many months bathing in the small lake near her cabin.

After a few more hours, Killian announced that they were close, and she had to stay behind him so he could alert the guards of their presence. His idea of "safely" involved throwing a rock at the watch tower to grab the attention of his brother, a snoring man with curls of brown hair and what eventually turned out to be eyes not-quite as blue as Killian's.

"Liam, you sodding git! Wake up!" Killian shouted, before sighing and turning back to her. It was nearly dark, and they hadn't eaten more than a can of beans in nearly two days, so Killian was impatient to get inside. "The bloody arse is sleeping on duty," He huffed, but his frown melted into a smirk as he turned back to her, "His girlfriend must have kept him up late." He winked at her then, and Emma smiled weakly.

It had been so long since she experienced intimacy that the concept was nearly foreign to her. She wondered if in another life, she might have had that connection with Graham. Maybe even Killian? A smaller, sadder part of her brain, wondered if the latter might be possible in _this_ life. She shut it out.

Her hand found its way to the sleeve of her own jacket, gripping the material tightly as the man in the watchtower (Liam, apparently), scrambled down the ladder and opened the large metal gate surrounding their makeshift-town.

Jogging quickly to them, he grabbed Killian and roughly pulled him into a tight embrace.

The two clapped each other on the backs, and the older Jones brother chided the younger.

"Poor form, scaring your brother like that! You said you'd be back three days ago. Everyone was worried sick about you. What bloody took you so long? Killian could only grunt in response, before taller man's eyes trained on Emma.

She was quite the sight to behold, if you'd have asked Killian. She was small in frame and stature, but stubborn and nimble as well, strong and unwilling to back down from a fight. Her eyes were awake and clear, green as the leaves of the forest with golden specks as bright as the sun. Her blonde hair was matted and tangled, but she maintained a composure and intent that Killian found himself envious of.

"And who might you be?" Liam addressed her, after giving her a one-over and shooting a questioning look to Killian.

She inhaled a little too quickly, sticking out her hand.

"Emma Swan. I'm, um… a friend Killian's." Liam looked suspicious, slowly drinking in her tone and shifting feet, before replying.

"Right... I'm Liam. Pleasure." He shook her hand strongly, and she shook his just as forcefully back. Killian cleared his throat, nodding towards the entry.

"If you're done making our new guest uncomfortable, it's high time for me to see the tiles of a shower floor." Liam shook his head at the younger man, sighing loudly.

"Not before visiting Victor in the infirmary, little brother."

"Younger brother." Killian corrected, furrowing his brow, but turning back to give Emma a reassuring glance, reaching for her hand and squeezing it.

Killian was met with hugs and cries from the town's members- obviously he was well liked. Emma felt a pang of jealousy when she saw the camaraderie between him and the town's lead guard, David. The two had exchanged fierce words before hugging tightly. David briefly met Emma with a nod and a firm handshake, welcoming her to the community and confiscating her and Killian's weapons. It took a little pleading, but David let Emma keep her bowie knife.

By the time they got to the infirmary (a bungalow that had been converted from a little house to a makeshift medical center), Emma was on edge. Her nerves were bumbling around under her skin, and the end of her spine seemed to tingle every time Killian's deep voice mumbled words of comfort in her ear. His hand was clasped tightly around hers, tugging her forward and rubbing his thumb over her knuckles.

Victor Whale was the head doctor in their town (which was really only a small segment of what used to be a gated community, surrounded by tall fences), a tall man with light brown hair and a kind smile. He greeted Emma warmly, wrapping his hand around hers, before pulling them both into the living-room-turned-examination-room.

"I take it Killian is your sponsor?" He asked her, and she blinked before turning to Killian in question.

"It's just the system we have here. I'm liable for your actions for your first 6 months of staying here. If you manage to screw up," He nodded to Liam to remind his protective older brother, "Which she won't," then he turned back to her and continued, "I'll be punished along with you." Emma just swallowed hard.

It wasn't as if her past was anything to set a cloud over her future- even her brief stint in jail spoke more to her judgement in men than it did to her morals. She was just becoming increasingly worried that she had managed to spend the last 48 hours getting herself deeper into something than she could afford to go.

Victor's examination was brief, and besides a few bumps and bruises, Emma was fine and unharmed. When it was Killian's turn, Emma backed out towards the kitchen to get herself water.

That was one perk of the community that Emma had appreciated immediately- running water and electricity. They were entirely self-sufficient, with solar panelling and an operational sewer/water system. It had been so long since Emma had a normal glass of water, that her fingers trembled against the cup.

A throat cleared behind her, and Liam Jones stood with his arms crossed.

"Just what is your goal, here?" He narrowed his eyes at her, stepping closer. _So, this is where he plays protective big brother_ , she thought. She could deal with that. She straightened her posture and jutted out her chin.

"To survive. Are you always this self-inflated and superior?" She dryly fired back.  
"If you endanger this community-"

"I won't."

"- or hurt my brother-"

"I _won't_."

"-I will not hesitate to kill you."

She scoffed.

"You're a real ray of sunshine, aren't you?" He shook his head at her.

"Deflect all you like, Swan," He growled, (it was _so_ much more menacing when he said it compared to his brother's affectionate tone) "I won't have you harming my family."

Emma just sighed and looked to the counter in resignation. Liam seemed to falter, just for a moment, seeing how broken she looked. She was small and fragile against the dark kitchen, but her next words defied any pity he might have harbored for her.

"I don't need your threats, Liam. I'm not scared of you, and I'm not out to get you. Believe it or not, I've somehow come to _give a damn_ about your brother over the last two days, and I wouldn't do anything to hurt the jackass. You, however, I can't promise anything for."

He seemed taken aback by her insistence, and extended his hand for the second time that night. When she shook it, there was a newfound respect in his eyes that Emma had a feeling he'd never admit to.

Later that night, after Emma had been allowed a shower at her new house (there were plenty of empty ones, given that the community couldn't have been more than 200 people, so Emma had gotten her pick), she met with Killian at the town meeting. It was set in the tiny park that sat in the middle of a few of the houses, just big enough for everyone to fit in plastic lawn chairs. The 'mayor', as they called her, was a strict woman with raven hair and perfectly manicured condescension named Regina Mills. Although Emma didn't particularly enjoy the woman's introduction, she respected her ability to command the group with grace and ease. She was briefly introduced, with Killian standing next to her as her sponsor, before she was allowed to sit down. A short and perky woman with a black pixie-cut and a cheery smile came into the park 15 minutes in, finding an empty seat next to Emma. Regina had raised an eyebrow and reminded her to " _Please take a seat, Mary Margaret."_

The woman turned to Emma as the mayor went on about town rules and any recent news. Most of it was common sense, so Emma didn't hush Mary Margaret when she started speaking.

"You're Killian's girl, right? I'm Mary Margaret, but you can call me MM. You've probably already met my husband, David. He's a little brusque at first, but he's a real sweetheart when you get to know him. How did you meet Killian? Your name is Emma, right?" Emma could only blink in response to the waves of information and questions.

"Uh, yeah. I'm Emma." Mary margaret grabbed her hand and squeezed.

"It's going to be so great having another girl around. You've got to meet Ashley and her husband, Sean! And I'm sure you'll get along well with Belle, she's lovely. It's been so long since we've had another gal our age join the group."

Mary Margaret looked to be Killian's age, early thirties, and Emma was only 22, but she made no effort to correct her.

"Yeah, it's been a while since I've really been near so many people."

MM gave her a knowing smile, one that was sad and understanding.

"Yeah, I get it. I was on my own before David met me and brought me here last year." Emma's brow raised at that. Mary Margaret had seemed so well adjusted to the community, but she had only been there a year. A strange hope infiltrated the back of Emma's mind, and she unconsciously squeezed MM's hand.

Mary margaret smiled even wider, if that was possible.

"I can tell we're going to be good friends."

After the town meeting, Killian had insisted on making Emma a " _proper meal"_ , which, of course, meant wine was included. Emma was more than happy to oblige. The two sat in Killian's dining room, eating the food Killian had made. Even if he hadn't been an excellent cook ( _which he was_ ) or hadn't made rotisserie chicken and steamed rice ( _which he did_ ), Emma would have gratefully stuffed her face all the same.

"Slow down there, lass, you'll give yourself a heart attack."

Emma just hummed in response, finishing the last of her food contently.

"Thank you for this, Killian. I mean it." He nodded, clasping her hand in his own across the table.

"No need to thank me, Swan. As you said, there's only the dead and the soon-to-be. It only seems fitting to spoil one of the lovelier soon-to-be's."

Emma rolled her eyes, but her stomach seemed to coil a little tighter at his words in that _heavy_ accent of his- and those hooded blue eyes staring her down left no room for hesitation. Emma squeezed his hand.

He walked her 'home' (as much as it could be one), and for a minute, it was easy to believe that they were just living normal lives, and the threat of biters was less than present.

 _("Really? Walking me to my door? Since when are you a gentleman?" / "I'm always a gentleman, Swan.")_

Three weeks passed before Emma found herself truly getting comfortable. She and Liam, though they had gotten off to a rocky start, had grown small respects for each other, and could survive working guard shifts together. She had even begun to like the man (rue the day she ever admitted it, though).

She _had_ been in for a shock when she met his girlfriend, the very same 19-year-old blonde and sister to a petite redhead that had stayed at her old cabin back in Summer. Elsa, a cold but loyal woman, and self-proclaimed technician of their little encampment, was more than happy when she was re-introduced to Emma. Anna, the younger sister, was similarly gleeful. She had even found her match in David's younger brother, Kris.

Emma's days were becoming more routine. In the mornings, she and Mary Margaret would corral the younger kids into the makeshift school house where MM would teach, and Emma would help her elderly neighbor, a woman that everyone simply called Granny, prepare breakfast for the three of them. By lunch, Emma worked with either Liam or David on guard duty, taking shifts in watch-tower on the slower days. She had her personal time in the afternoons, where she'd enjoy quiet reading with Belle or shadow Regina. Emma's favorite part of the day, though, was dinnertime, where she would meet Killian at his house (or hers, if she was feeling hospitable).

He had a somber way about him, some days, as if his fervent attempts to remain optimistic were finally catching up to him. But, then, he'd see Emma and his face would melt into something softer and more pronounced. She tried to ignore the casual touches, her hands lingering on his a little longer than was necessary, or the traces of his echoing smile sifting in through her dreams and out through her release of tensions when she was in the shower and could simply bear it no more.

It was a good bubble, a build-up of a hope that Emma was more than a little scared to deal with.

4 months after Emma had first arrived, when spring was just beginning to bloom, the news was announced that Killian would be going on another supply run. It was to last 2 weeks at most, and he'd have the backup of one guard. Emma argued desperately to be chosen for the job, but to no avail. A more experienced veteran, Robert Gold, was decidedly Killian's help. The british scoundrel himself was none too pleased, as Gold's vague and slimy affect would do no good for the harsh weeks ahead. He swallowed his concern, though, and allowed Emma to fuss and worry over him. MM was her best friend, but Killian… he was her _person_ , and though she hadn't the courage to admit it, he had become more of a family to her than she'd ever known.

Killian had just grinned and hugged her tightly, promising to be back before long. Liam had already preemptively scolded his brother for whatever dalliance he might get on with, and embraced him emotionally. Emma hesitated at the gate, dragging Killian back. She had never been one for outwards affection, but she had a bad feeling in her gut about Killian leaving, especially with Gold. There was a churning in her gut as she clung to his sleeve, looking up at him with such intensity that he seemed taken aback.

"I'll be alright Swan. I swear it. Before you know it, I'll be back and irresistible as ever." She just grimaced and pressed her lithe body to his, feeling the warmth of his hands and the scruff of his cheek tug her closer.

"I know," She mumbled into his neck, ignoring his flirting. "I know." Then she was looking up at him, and his breath was barely there on her mouth, and she wanted so desperately to close the gap or tell him what she was thinking, feeling, _anything-_ but instead, she gave him a gentle shove. "I'll see you in two weeks, Jones." And he seemed to shiver at the loss, but nodded nonetheless.

"Aye, love. That you will."


	3. Chapter 3

**(brief A/N: this is unedited, so sorry for any mistakes. I just got so excited when I finished that I had to post it immediately. Lots of love!)**

As it happened, no, Emma did not see Killian in two weeks.

The first day after he left, Emma denied any feelings of worry purchase in her heart or mind. She was absolutely fine, really, and her schedule continued as normal. Where she would usually eat with Killian, she would get a quick snack and go on runs with a fellow guardsman, Robin. It wasn't that he was bad company- he was lovely, in fact- he just wasn't Killian. When Robin smiled at her she got no butterflies in her stomach, no teenage-school-girl-crush-jitters. It was just a smile, and he was just a friend. A nagging voice in the back of her head reminded her, _Killian is just a friend, too._ Somehow, that didn't sound quite right.

By the third day, Emma began to worry. What if he'd been delayed? What if they hadn't brought enough supplies, or weapons, for that matter? What if they had been ambushed, and were stumbling through the forest as dead men? Emma shuddered at that thought. No, not her Killian. He was too stubborn to get himself killed.

On the 6th day after Killian left, it was discovered that a pistol had gone missing from the armory around the time that Gold and Jones left. Emma nearly choked on her hot chocolate when Mary Margaret told her the news. The mayor suspected it had been Killian who took it as an extra precaution, but Emma knew better. Killian was a stickler for rules, a "man of honor", as he would have said. He wouldn't have taken it without permission. Her eyes had gone stormy, and it had taken Mary Margaret a good 15 minutes to convince her to rethink blindly going after them. MM had noted that Emma was quite protective of her family, to which Emma froze up. She gulped down the rest of her scalding hot chocolate and wiped her mouth, completely ignoring the implication that Killian was so important to her.

The 9th day rolled around, and Emma had gotten grumpy. Her emotional turmoil was certainly getting to Robin. He ended their run in front of Mary Margaret's house, sighing and telling Emma that she needed her " _best friend for this. God knows that woman is the only one who can handle your pining."_

Emma had been quick to deny that- to claim she only felt friendly admiration for Killian.

"Well, of course you don't! Don't be silly." Mary Margaret had interrupted, and Robin took that as his cue to go home (where a _pining_ Regina would likely be). Emma just huffed.

"I don't have a thing for Killian."

Mary Margaret shrugged noncommittally.

"I'm not saying is has to happen now, but it _is_ going to happen, Emma. It's best you be ready for it."

Emma narrowed her eyes at the older woman, crossing her arms.

"What makes you so sure? What makes you think I give a damn about him for anything beyond the fact that he's a decent chef?"

She fired, and her cold tone might have fooled anyone else, but Mary Margaret was ever-understanding.

"Because, Em," she paused, her voice shifting to something soft as she looked at the blonde with sincerity, "Whether it was the end of days or an average life you'd still look at him the same way."

Emma challenged her, but no real anger was held in her voice.

"And what way is that?"

MM just sighed, a wistful look in her eyes, and patted Emma on the back. Her muscles ached at the touch, longing for a different set of hands- ones decorated with rings, scars, and calluses, with the gentle touch of a man wise beyond his years.

"The same way I look at David. Like he's your only hope of salvation."

She turned to look Emma in the eye, "Now come on, dinner's almost ready."

And with that, the raven-haired woman walked briskly into her house, and Emma felt another pang of longing shoot down her spine.

If Mary Margaret was right, Emma might never get the chance to tell Killian for herself.

Emma just shook her head, and grumbled into the house after her.

12 days after Killian had left (and two days before he was to return), the mayor called a town meeting. As the crowd filtered into their seats on the same green and grassy lawn as Emma had sat on 6 months earlier, she got an uneasy feeling in her gut. The way that Regina paced near the podium was unsettling more than anything else, and Liam's grumbling about how he'd much rather be at home with Elsa wasn't easy on her ears, either. Regina's son (a goofy and energetic young boy named Henry) shouted at everyone to "shut your traps", to which his mother scolded him and he amended, "Shut your traps, _please_."

The group quieted down, and the mayor cleared her throat.

"As you all know, we discovered last week that a pistol had gone missing from the armory." Emma's ears perked up, and she shifted on the edge of her plastic chair.

The mayor continued, with downcast eyes,

"We've since come to possess more evidence that points to this being a threat to one of our own. Late last night, David was locking up the guard's office when he heard static. After searching, he found this." Regina held up what looked to be a walkie-talkie, with a grimace on her face. "A woman on the other end was calling to a Robert, presumably Robert Gold. Unfortunately, her voice was identified as that of the leader of one of the scavenger factions a few miles south of here. You all know her as Cora."

The crowd let out a few shocked gasps, and Emma's brow furrowed in confusion. She took the opportunity to pipe up,

"Wait, who's Cora?"

Regina had a pained look on her face, and her knuckles seemed to turn white in her fist. Robin spoke up for her, Graciously standing to address the group.

"Cora is Regina's mother. She ran this place last year, through a rule of fear and violence. She was forced out a few months before you arrived, and since Regina has taken over, reforms in our security system and operations have kept her at bay. We received word that she had worked her way through the ranks of the southern scavengers, but no one has heard from her, until now."

Regina picked up, then.

"We've changed a lot since then. Besides improvements in our crop growth, irrigation, and general quality of life, we've become a community."

"A family," corrected Mary Margaret.

"So what's the deal with her, then? Has she been working with Gold?"

Emma asked, balling her hands into fists at the thought of Killian being alone with him. Liam seemed to do the same.

"Bloody bastard, I always had a bad feeling about him." His brow furrowed, and he stood, jaw clenched. "I'll kill the sodding prick myself." Emma grabbed him by the forearm, tugging him back down.

"Not until we know what's going on." She reminded him, but it seemed like more of a reassurance to herself than anyone else.

"Emma's right," Regina agreed, "We don't know what their plan is." She stepped forward, her eyes focused on the crowd, who seemed to be overrun by a mixture of fear, anger, and confusion. "All we know is that a pistol was stolen, and Gold has been in contact with Cora. For now, we have to assume that Jones can hold his own."

Emma went rigid, anxiety sliding down her forehead in cool droplets of sweat. Mary margaret grabbed her hand comfortingly.

"It won't come to that, Emma." She insisted, but Emma began to shake nonetheless.

Without another word, Emma stood and briskly left the park. No one dared to stop her.

By the time that the door closed behind her, Emma had collapsed against the wood in a frenzy of panting and twitching. She hadn't had a panic attack in a while, not since her first months on her own. This was different, though, she had something at stake.

She didn't quite know what to call it, yet, so she settled for naming it her 'friend' as she shook against the door. The wood rattled as she heaved, tucking her knees into her chest. The hyperventilation quickly turned into sobs that wracked her body with fragile bursts of violence. It didn't take her long to come to the conclusion that Killian had been the thing grounding her for the last half a year, and if he was gone, she might as well float away.

The next two days were filled with a deafening silence, as the town waited for any word on the walkie-talkie. It was as if the whole community was holding its breath. Emma and Liam in particular receive sympathetic smiles and hugs, and each one made Emma fume. She wished the group would stop expecting Killian to be dead. He wasn't dead, she'd insist. He couldn't be.

By the end of the day that Killian and Gold were supposed to return, when no one had arrived at the gates and no news had been received, Emma let herself into Killian's house and slept on his couch. In the morning, the pillow was wet with tears.

Two days after Killian was supposed to return, Liam punched a fellow guard. The man had only been joking around about Liam's grumpiness, and it was childish, really, but he had been wound so tight that any inconvenience set him off. He was sentenced to two days on house arrest. The two days passed, and Emma spent both of them with him. Each " _bloody hell"_ he'd murmur as he paced reminded her of Killian, and every time she caught a glimpse of his eyes not-quite-as-blue, her throat closed up and she had to hold onto something to steady herself.

Four days after Killian was supposed to be back, Emma threw herself into her work. She took as many shifts on guard as she could, spending any free time going on runs or killing stragglers by the fence. Sleep was a thing of the past. Sometimes, when she'd lay down on Killian's couch, she'd stare at the rug for hours before she could close her eyes without trembling. The part that hit her the worst was knowing that at any point she might wake up with no hope of seeing him again.

After 3 more days passed, an entire week after Killian was supposed to be home, the community held a candlelight vigil for Killian, who they had officially presumed dead. A smaller one was held for Gold, only attended by his girlfriend Belle. Emma couldn't bring herself to be angry at the other girl. She was too empty to be mad. She had cried all her tears on Liam's shoulder, and witnessed him do the same too many times to wish for anything else from the community. Mary Margaret just hugged her tightly, whispering comforts into her ear, and telling her she was welcome to stay with her and David if she didn't want to be alone.

Emma left the vigil early.

Two days after the vigil, there was a sound of a shot fired from right outside the gate. Emma had rushed to the scene with everyone else, carrying her bowie knife, and wearing a frown and Killian's sweater. When Liam had offered it to her, he told her that his little brother would have wanted her to have it. She almost corrected, "younger brother", on behalf of Killian. She held her tongue.

The threat of dusk weighed heavily on the settlement like a blanket, filling their noses with the fog of drowsiness and their throats with the pinpricks of aching.

When David came jumping down from the guard tower with blurry eyes and frantic jostling, Emma stopped breathing. At the screeching of the gate opening, Emma dropped her knife. When the gate opened fully to a starved and bloody Killian, kneeling on scratched knees and grasping a dirty rifle, Emma ran.

For the first time, it was towards something, _someone_ , and she didn't remember to breathe until he finally looked at her. A grin broke out on his scarred and bruised face, face softening in relief through layers of cracked dirt and dust, and she could only believe that it was the most beautiful sight she had ever seen before she was dropping to her knees and taking him into her arms with every ounce of love she had. She knew the feel of his scruff scratching her cheek, now long enough to barely be considered a beard; she knew his hands desperately pulling her closer, putting so much pressure on her that she thought she'd split in half, and she knew the heat of his worn and tired body as he clung to her. She remembered what Mary Margaret had said to her about knowing how _it_ would happen, and how he looked at her exactly how MM said Emma looked back at him. _Like he was her only hope of salvation_.

Through choked breaths, Emma sniffled, salty trails of tears spilling onto his heavy coat. She laced her fingers through his hair and _tugged_ , and he came willingly. He only pulled back enough to slant his lips over hers, capturing her in a willful and needy kiss, pouring months of intensity into one simple action. Emma might have melted right there. She gave back just as heavily, greedy in her return. She had missed him too much to let a second go to waste. His lips were soft and summery, drawing her into the warmth of his mouth. His hand came up to cradle the back of her head, and when they finally broke for air, his nose rested on hers and their breath intertwined just like their fingers.

He spoke, then, in a cracked voice that trembled from days without water,

"Are you wearing my jumper?"

Emma just bawled at that, sobs shaking her tiny frame, and he laughed through his own tears, too.

Killian had stumbled into Liam's arms almost immediately after, who shook his head in fury and his fists in relief.

Liam's throat was clogged with emotion as he embraced his younger brother, worn and tired.

"What the bloody hell happened, mate? I thought- we all thought…" He choked on his words, grasping the shorter man with all of his might. "We thought you were dead." He broke out, managing to hold back a damn of tears long enough for Killian to look at him.

Killian began in the same dusted tone, "It's quite the story, but I fear I need-"

"Rest if I've ever seen it! No one is allowed to make the poor bastard speak until he's eaten, slept, washed, and been examined by yours truly." Victor interrupted enthusiastically, clapping Killian on the back.

Emma grabbed Killian's hand, raising her eyebrow at Victor's subsequent look.

She nearly snarled at him before Liam supplied,

"Neither of us are leaving his side, and anyone who raises concern against that will be delivered a swift kick in the gut from both myself _and_ the lady Swan."

Killian smiled at his brother and squeezed Emma's hand. That was definitely enough for her.

After he had properly "rested up and winded down", as Dr. Whale called it, Killian was eager to talk. The mayor, Emma, and the brothers Jones all sat in Killian's living room. He winced as he gulped down a glass of water. Emma wiped stray droplets from his chin, scrunching her nose at his scratchy facial hair.

"Prefer me shaven, do you, love?" He joked, and Emma just leaned her head onto his weakened shoulder. His injuries were minor, except for a bullet graze on his left hand that had to be sutured and bandaged.

"After the last month, I'd prefer you in a god damned tutu and rainbow wig before outside of that fence." She mumbled, revelling in the sound of his hearty chuckle.

Regina rolled her eyes.

"Flirt later, explain now."

Killian cleared his throat.

"Ah, right. Gold. He was working for Cora."

"We know," Emma told him, and Regina held up the walkie-talkie that had been strapped to her hip for the last week. Killian furrowed his brow, and Emma interjected,

"Wait, _was_ working for Cora?"

Killian's face darkened and his jaw twitched.

"Aye, he's dead."

The room let out an unsteady breath.

Killian continued, warily.

"I didn't know until the second week of our trek, We collected our fair share of resources to bring back, but Gold insisted we head to one last part of the woods. He said the south was filled with abandoned encampments. I knew there were scavengers, though, and told him we'd only stay for a day. He agreed. It wasn't until he led us right to Cora's group that I understood what had happened. Apparently, he'd been trying to "switch sides" for a while now. He and Cora… well… they're rather.. Entangled with each other."

Regina shook her head in distaste.

"I _so_ didn't need to know about that."

Emma squeezed Killian's hand, brushing a strand of hair out of his face. He turned to her with a look of bliss, and Liam had to interrupt them with a cough.

"How did you get like… _this_ , then, little brother?"

Killian scoffed.

"It's 'younger brother', and I don't quite like your tone." Emma smiled, really smiled (for the first time in a while, dammit), and turned to the bickering brothers.

"Relax, Killian. I don't think anyone could knock the handsome out of you. Don't get your ego all wounded."

He grinned wolfishly, before looking to his brother.

"Gold took a pistol, not that I _bloody know well where he got it_ , and aimed it at myself. If it weren't for my incredible instincts and amazing agility, I'd have a bullet hole in me."

Liam nudged Emma.

"See? His ego is perfectly in fact, you had nothing to scold me for. In fact, it could use a good knocking."

Killian grinned.

"I think a "good knocking" is more Emma's job than yours, mate."

Emma poked his injured hand, and he winced.

"Ow! Bloody hell, woman!" He exclaimed, and she kissed him for the second time that night. This one was quicker and softer, more a chaste press of her lips to his own than anything else, but Emma could still feel the warmth in her stomach roar to life again.

Regina stood, sighing dramatically.

"Is Cora still a threat, or not?"

Killian huffed, annoyed to be interrupted from his shenanigans.

"No, lass. I managed to fire back at Gold. Went straight through him and hit her."

Regina's breath caught, and Emma had to remind herself that Cora was still Regina's mother, however dangerous she may be. "Not a deadly injury, but enough to take her off her feet for a few months. I ran like hell right after so there's no way to know for sure, but she shouldn't be an issue."

Regina sighed, seeming a little relieved, then, pointing a red fingernail at the group, she announced,

"Right, then. It's good to see the idiot is himself, and Miss Swan has ceased her moping. We're all glad you escaped, yada yada yada. I'm leaving. We'll talk more tomorrow."

After she left, Killian lifted an eyebrow at Emma.

"Moping, were you?"

She elbowed him.

"Shut up, jackass. Liam was no better."

Killian turned to his brother, puckering his lips.

"Did you want one too, mate?"

Liam just stood, grumbling.

As he exited, a trail of, " _For christ's sake, I almost prefer you gone"_ followed him out.

Emma looked to Killian. Now that they were alone, she was itching to tell him what she was feeling. It was something so much stronger than any feelings she might have had for Graham, much more resilient than her asshole high school boyfriend, Neal.

"Killian, I…I..."

What she felt for Killian was low and burning, a fire far beyond her years that she knew in her heart she'd have succumbed to had she met him during the damned apocalypse or not. It was… it was-

"I know, love. And I, you."

She kissed him unwaveringly, cutting off his gaze with a frenzy of pressure, her mouth on his and her leg wrapping around his thigh as she pulled him closer. He was a salvation, more than she cared to admit.

That night, though, she _did_ admit it, numerous times: on the couch, against the kitchen counter, in his bed (which was really more _theirs_ at this point) and even in the shower the morning after, if you'd have asked Killian.

On the first day of spring after Emma's world was righted on its axis, she woke up to a sloppy kiss and a grin from her husband. The dead and the soon-to-be were outside her walls, but on the _inside_ was a 6 foot tall jackass, with black hair and ginger stubble, who drank her awful coffee with a shake of his head, a kiss to her now growing stomach, and a laugh.


End file.
